The sun gleamed off the station, a dull, bluish glow washing over it's cold surface. A small cloud of ships buzzed around it, a few freighters, security...nothing much different than any other station. In fact, to most, the only discernable difference was the ring of high powered security platforms surrounding the station. In hindsight, that is a pretty obvious difference. But...that would be beside the point.
Among the small amount of traffic going to and from the bays, a police freighter landed. Unlike the other freighters that periodically came through, it was silent. The only activity you could see through the windows was a pair of officers, holding an electronic chain between them, connected to something beyond sight.
As the small freighter landed, the engineers crowded around to see the convict. Of course, this was pretty much the most fun they had during the day. Well, besides cardamine, but this was less likely to land them in jail. So, after the doors opened, they saw a man, his face hidden by a police shroud; Some contrived device that they used to keep suspects from acting aggressive. It didnt really appear to be working, as the man was bucking at the chain, rushing towards the officers again and again. In fact, he probably would have been a scary thing, if not for the periodic shocks given to keep him at bay. That part just made it funny.
They managed to drag the man to a small, white lobby. A new group of officers came in, wrestling him to the ground. He bit and tore angrily, desperately trying to fend off the shocks. Another man dove into the fray, clinging on to a syringe. The men pulled away; The previously rampaging maniac was now sleeping peacefully on the ground.
--Unknown Man--
--After incarceration--
He awoke to the light of a small room. Tired...disoriented...he couldnt think straight. The only thing that occupied his mind was that room, the fixtures, the bed, the light. For those few minutes, it might as well have been his whole world Then, suddenly, it was as though someone had lifted a weight off of him. Information flooded the consciousness he had so recently grasped once more. Like sleet, stinging his being over and over. Each thought was a pain like no other, yet distinct to every other.
What was going on? Where was he? Who was he?
Everything stopped, then. It was as though the world had frozen on that one question: Who was he? The pain stopped, somehow. He felt that moment again, that moment where the world closed on what he saw.
The Logs of Doctor Neret
Date - January 3rd, 817 A.S.
Recording Time - 3:19 PM
We've recently received a new patient. A John D-...oh, wait, we dont know his name. That was just the placeholder.
So, as to preliminary observations of his mental state;
He appears to have serious instability within his perception of the world. He reacts extremely to even the slightest stimulus (For example, when he was brought in, the amount of Police Officers around him set off an aggressive reaction). In addition, in the rare times where he has been observed as calm, we've noticed another pressing issue: Acute psychopathy. His idle comments point to a diregard to human life. In one instance he said the following:
"I kill without regret, ones of white. I shall not tarry in removing you, as well"
To be quite honest, that's really, really scary. In fact, I dont think I'll be sleeping tonite.
Well, in any case...
END LOG
--Wesley Reinman--
--January 4th, 817 A.S.--
A man was walking down the hall, a starkly lit, gloomy affair. It did no justice for him, as he was quite ugly. In fact, that was the reason cited by most for why he had never had a girlfriend. But, that was beside the point.
He was rather annoyed that they had assigned him to "the psycho" - at least, that's what everyone called this newest patient. The last oerson to try it got the syringe in his arm, and a few weeks on Manhattan while he crapped the sedatives out. He was mentally preparing himself for what was to come. Well, that, and he made sure his personal stungun was within reach.
The door slid out away from him, revealing "the psycho". A grin came across his face that sickened Wesley. Who was this man to be amused at his suffering? Well, no sane man, he thought. Of course, he had casually disregarded that he worked at a mental hospital, on a prison station, which would have made the thought much more ironic, if he had thought of that first. But, you know, Wesley was the kind of man who COULD ignore that.
"So," the crouching man called out "giving it another go, I suppose? Fun. Let's see how that works out." He began to stand up, clearly with the aim of driving the syringe into a rather painful and inappropriate place on Wesley. But, to foil the psycho's plans, Wesley had a stun gun. Rather, a stun gun lodged into the man's chest. When the appropriate amount of unconsciousness was allocated within the deranged maniac, Wesley slipped the medicine in through his arm.
--Unknown Man--
--Several days Later--
He was quite disappointed. He thought he would have taken out just a few more of them before they got anything in him. But, alas, he had failed in that respect. Now was time to contemplate his situation.
The man had ascertained that it was some sort of mental hospital, from the white clothes and number of crushing moments that had recently crossed his life. Also, it appeared there was something wrong with him.
Wait, he already knew that part.
So, pretty much all he knew was that his life had begun to suck more than usual.
A rap on the door denoted the next one of them. It was a good thing that guy with the stun gun had dropped an extra needle.
The Logs of Doctor Neret
Date - January 7th, 817 A.S.
Recording Time: 6:01 PM
This has just been a mess.
We've started calling him "Psycho", seeing as he refuses to tell us his name and they really cant find him on any database.
So, we're doing the only thing we can; Keeping him constantly drugged.
Not much news outside of that, but we DO have word that he may be undergoing specialized treatment soon. God willing, that should help.
So long now, for the man. So many days, weeks...at least, he thought so. Time just blurred into one long, white monotony, broken only by the quick jolts of the drugs they ut in him. He supposed this was what eternity felt like, except it wasn't eternity and people kept stabbing him with needles.
But, you know, those drugs worked, for the most part. He never really felt a need to act out. Just a quiet longing for stimulus, all but blocked out, that kept his ear open to the next bit of speech, the next rumor...anything.
It wasn't like it was all bad, though. It gave him time to think, to obsess over news about him, what they would do. To plan, in some ways, but in others just to understand. He figured that if things were going to change, he wanted to prepare.
To live.
The Logs of Doctor Neret
Date: March 15th, 817 A.S.
Recording Time: 9:48 P.M.
Things are going quite well with our little "Psycho". Or, as he would be known now, Detainee 0914. Psycho fits better, though, so...it probably wont die out any time soon.
We've put Detainee 0914 through intensive drug treatment, along with a constant sedative regiment. We've seen progress with him; Most of his aggressive behavior has been dulled, he appears to be more willing to take the drugs...heck, he might just be leaving soon.
In addition, we've made progress with the Project. We just finished a meeting with some Navy Officer...we may be harboring an experiment that could help hundreds...thousands, even.
END LOG
--Daniel Eckerson--
--March 15th, 817 A.S.--
A man in Navy attire walked out down a star-white hall, the doors of a conference room sliding closed as he turned the corner. He was lightly built, clenching his hands around the suitcase he held as though it contained something worth a fortune.
Well...it did. So that's why.
Some of the scientists around him saluted as he walked by. Others just continued on with their work. And one particularly confused (and soon to be unemployed) man gave a racous laugh at him. None of it mattered to the Officer; It was a loony house, best not to get too involved. He'd even said that to the secretary who plopped him down in this dazzling white prison. But, of course, she didn't listen. Nobody listened to Danny.
As he walked into the bay, he gave a sigh of relief. The shuttle wasn't late, for once. No waiting around the cardi-sniffing grease monkeys. Just a nice, furnished interior, a calm trip through Texas, and maybe a pat on the back on West Point.
--Detainee 0914--
--Not Much Later--
The man tapped out a silenttune on his bed, repeating it over and over agiain. It was something sweet, something from his past...something he didn't want to remember. Yet there it clung, clear for the first time in ages.
It had become painful, though. He longed for the insanity, the shroud of his own design. Yet they were peeling it away, like the rund of a melon. They were making the sorrow come back.
That couldn't happen. He thought that he was just going to be here, drugged into oblivion. But they were going through it. It wasn't worth going by their wishes, not any more. All there was left to do was return to his fight. To end this penetration.
The Logs of Doctor Neret
Date: March 20th, 817 A.S.
Recording Time: 2:03 P.M.
Oh god...oh god...
De-...Detainee 0914 has caused the death of one of our own.
At 9:19 A.M., March 20th, 817 A.S., Wesley Reinman was stabbed through the heart while trying to give the Detainee his sedative regiment. The Detainee had apparently wrestled a needle from his supply pack, and then turned it on Dr. Reinman. Services will be held a week from now.
We've attained the Navy contract. Lets hope it breaks that frikkin' Psycho down.